A Family Resemblance: 4/5
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
VI
Alan bent over the scanner readout in the control room of their ship. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Aunt Phyllis," he repeated for the hundredth time. "The cruiser is still there, and I think I'm picking up another one. They're just waiting for us to show up. If we even try to go back right now, we'll either get shot out of space or captured. Neither one will do Angie or Susie any good. We have to wait."
Phyllis Westover paced abstractedly. "But Alan, she protested, "what if they find them? What will we do then?"
Alan had heard that question more times than he wanted to count. He stood up, turning to re-enter the main cabin of the ship. "We have to rely on Kevin. He doesn't want to get caught any more than we want him to. I know you don't trust him, but I think you're misjudging him." He paused, searching his aunt's worried face and hoping devoutly that his trust wasn't misplaced.
Roger was sitting quietly at one of the small tables in the main cabin. He glanced shrewdly at Alan, and by his emotional output Alan knew that Roger had formed a pretty accurate estimate of Kevin Bronson's character, but was keeping quiet for his wife's sake. He was laying out a hand of Solitaire on the table's surface, but now he paused, speaking quietly to his wife. "Phyllis, pacing around and stewing isn't going to help. Alan and Mark would take us back if they could."
"I know, but ..."
Mark emerged from the latrine, a boot in one hand and a piece of tissue in the other. "Blasted dog," was his laconic comment. "It's a good thing we didn't decide to bring the cow, too."
"We don't have a cow," Phyllis said, automatically.
In spite of everything, Alan had to smother a grin. "Maybe we'd better let them out," he suggested. "It's a long time to be stuck in a place that small."
Mark sat down, beginning to clean off his boot sole. "If you say so, kid. I ain't cleanin' up nothin' they leave behind, though."
"Don't worry," Alan assured him. "I'll take care of it." He strode over to the latrine and opened the door.
The dog burst out like a small whirlwind, followed instantly by the cat. Matilda raced at once to Phyllis, leaping upon her like a long lost savior. The cat, in the way of its kind, swarmed up an apparently sheer bulkhead to come to a stop on a narrow shelf in the galley. Phyllis pushed the dog away.
"Matilda, get down! Sit!"
Matilda sat, her tongue hanging out, panting vigorously. Alan went back to the control room to check the scanners. The battlecruisers were still in evidence. He sighed. He hoped Kevin would be able to manage until help arrived. Abe's people would be looking too, of course, because they had certainly picked up the same transmission Mark had, but their chances of finding the fugitives would be no better than those of the Patrol. He'd told Phyllis that they would be searching, but the thought had failed to comfort his worried aunt.
Mark appeared beside him. "They still there?"
"I'm afraid so."
Linley sighed, slipping on his boot. "This could be a long wait."
VII
As the afternoon wore on, clouds began to gather overhead. The wind was picking up, too, Bronson noted with disgust, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Early darkness began to fall.
"Storm comin'." He shivered and Susan clutched him tightly, her tiny hands like ice around his neck. At last he paused, unhooking the emergency kit from his belt. "Here, baby, take the blanket. Better put it around both of us." He pulled the covering over the little girl and tied it beneath his chin like a cape. "There. Better?"
He felt her nod. "What about Angie?"
"I'm ok...kay." Angela's teeth were chattering. Bronson glanced at her.
"Honey ..."
"Really, Kevin, I'm all right."
He looked at her doubtfully, but forbore to argue. They had gone on another kilometer when the rain began. It started suddenly, a fine, drifting curtain of moisture, but swiftly became heavier until it was driving down in torrents. Streams of water ran off the branches of the tall, evergreen trees. They went onward in the dimness, slipping in mud and wet vegetation. Bronson clamped an arm around Angela, pulling her close, and forged ahead.
It was biting cold. The rain was like ice where it slapped at his naked chest. Kevin glanced frantically around in the fading light, then pulled Angela under a dense growth of bushes with wide, fanlike leaves. "In here, honey."
It was warmer there, for the leaves and undergrowth protected them from the wind and rain. Bronson huddled down, pulling the two girls close on either side, and spread the single blanket over them all.
"We'll stay put until the storm dies down," he said. "The search parties ain't gonna be too enthusiastic in this kinda weather, anyway."
Susan pressed against him, shivering, and Angela huddled close against his other side, her dark curls resting on his chest. Susan began to snore after a short time, and Kevin glanced at her. He felt, rather than heard, Angela laugh.
"Poor little kid," he remarked. "She's worn out."
"You've been really nice to her, Kevin." Angela glanced at the battered doll that still hung from his belt. "To both of us, really. There's no way to thank you, of course, but ..."
Bronson felt a flush creeping across his neck. Odd, how this one girl had the power to embarrass him. Or not so odd ... "Shut up, baby," he said, roughly. "I ain't done all that much."
She touched his upper arm, sliding her hand over the hard bands of muscle. "But you have, Kevin. You've been wonderful." She smiled confidently at him in the dimness.
Bronson stared at her, feeling his heart rate speed up. She was beautiful, he thought. Her hair was wet and tangled with twigs, her face washed free of makeup but smeared generously with mud, and yet he had never known any woman half so beautiful, not even Julia Austell, herself. This blasted link! That was all it was, he told himself angrily. He mustn't fall for this girl. Was he crazy?
Her small hand slid over the tensed muscles of his upper arm and Bronson felt himself shiver, suddenly keenly aware of the soft, feminine curves beneath the wet Patrol tunic. Her face was quite near his own, the soft, generous mouth tempting him. Bronson, never one to say no to temptation, put his free arm around her, pulling her close. She yielded at once and their lips touched. Kevin's hand drew her to him again, more forcibly this time, and his fingers slipped beneath the loose neck of the tunic, caressing her shoulder lightly.
She stiffened at once, and jerked back with a frightened gasp. Bronson released her instantly, cursing himself and Patrolman Fairchild impartially.
"Sorry, Angie," he said.
She drew a long, shaking breath and he felt her begin to relax again. "It's all right," she whispered.
Kevin lay still, careful to keep his hand away from her. Angela was an empath, dammit! She was bound to sense the emotion in him. Fury ran through him again at the memory of the events of the morning. Poor little Angie, trying to fight Fairchild alone, with her hands cuffed behind her. Man! If he'd only had the chance to give the guy what he deserved ...
Angela was still, her face against his bare shoulder, her breathing light and fast. For the slow count of ten, she didn't move and Kevin lay silent and miserable. Something warm and wet ran down his shoulder, and he realized that Angela was crying.
**********
Angela lay still against Kevin's shoulder. He was no longer holding her and had turned his face away. She couldn't blame him. She was furious with herself for her instinctive reaction. What a prude he must think her! And he was right, of course. She *was* a prude. But the feeling of his hand on her shoulder had brought back for one vivid instant the memory of Patrolman Fairchild this morning. Poor Kevin! After all he'd done for her and Susan, she had acted like she expected him to assault her!
Was there any way to make up for what she had done? -- to somehow convey without speaking that she *wanted* him to kiss her again, to hold her closely as he had been doing a moment before? His shoulder was rigid beneath her cheek. She could feel the anger, mixed with desire, in him. Was he angry with her? Angela didn't think so, but she couldn't be certain.
Never before had she met anyone who attracted her as much as Kevin Bronson. Physically, she found him almost irresistible, between his striking good looks and his utterly incredible physique. It was hard to believe that he found her at all attractive. Angela knew that she was moderately pretty, but she was not, by any stretch of the imagination, beautiful. Her mouth was too big, for one thing, and the rest of her was too small. Beside Kevin Bronson she felt tiny, like a child, but that kiss had made it clear that he didn't consider her a child. No more than that patrolman this morning had ...
Deliberately, she banished the memory. Kevin, she knew, had once been a patrolman. Was it possible that he had ever treated a woman like that creature had treated her? Impossible! She couldn't even envision such a thing. She could feel the great strength in the shoulder beneath her face but the memory of his kindness and consideration of her and Susan made the idea of his using violence on a woman utterly inconceivable. She moved closer to him. Wasn't there any way to let him know that she wasn't offended by his advances? Tears flooded her eyes.
"Angie." His voice was tightly controlled. "Back up a little, willya?"
She did so, feeling despair engulf her. He would reject her now. Probably he would never try to touch her again. The thought was almost too much to bear.
The rain was coming down harder, drumming on the thin emergency blanket. Lightning flickered crazily across the sky and thunder boomed like cannons. Angela felt cold all over and the tears slid silently down her face. Susan slept on.
Kevin's shoulder moved abruptly against her face. "Angie." His voice was choked. "Don't cry, honey. I won't do it again."
"No." Her voice caught on the word. "Don't say that. I want you to do it again."
He shook his head vehemently. "You don't owe me nothin', Angie. I'm a damn fool! After what happened this mornin' ..." He favored the deceased patrolman with a few highly uncomplimentary remarks, then fell silent, not looking at her.
"Kevin ..." She lifted her head and put a hand on his arm, feeling the muscles knot beneath her fingers. There was a strained silence.
Bronson spoke suddenly, staring fixedly at the sleeping form of Susan. "You gotta be the most fantastic girl I ever met, Angie."
Angela swallowed hard. "Kevin ..."
He went on as though she hadn't spoken. "There's been a lotta women in my life, honey, but I ain't never met one like you." He turned his head to look at her, never moving his hand from the ground beside her. "That sounds stupid. A pickup line. I guess you know what 'trols are like, baby. You got a first-hand experience this mornin'. They ain't all like that, but a lot are. That so-and-so ain't nothin' unusual. Lotsa guys like him join the Patrol 'cause they like hurtin' people. But ..." He cleared his throat and his eyes searched hers. "But I never done nothin' like that, myself. You gotta believe that, Angie."
Angela didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded and ran a hand over the muscles of his shoulder again. He caught his breath sharply. "Honey, for the luvvamike, don't *do* that. I ain't made o' iron, y'know."
Angela took a long breath. "Kiss me again, Kevin."
His eyes widened, brightly blue in the dimness. "You mean it?"
She nodded, smiling a little. "Of course I mean it. Just don't wake Susie up. I don't feel like dealing with a jealous four-year-old right now."
His teeth flashed white in the dimness, then his arm curved gently around her once more, drawing her face close to his. His mouth covered hers.
**********
Lightning lit up the wildly waving bushes and there was a deafening crash of thunder, succeeded instantly by an ominous snapping and cracking of tree limbs.
"Watch out!" Kevin yelled. He leaped to his feet, dragging the two girls with him and ran into the storm. The tree came down behind them with an echoing crash that resounded through the forest. Angela gave a muffled scream.
Bronson came to a gasping halt, clutching the two girls against him. Susan was crying fretfully and clinging to his leg. The storm raged around them.
What the blazes was holding up Alan and Mark, Bronson wondered as he stood there with the rain pounding down and two cold, very wet young females huddling against him. This was awful! How much longer were they going to *be*, anyway?
Angela put the thought into words. "Kevin, are you *sure* Alan will be able to track us?"
Bronson looked down at her wet face. "Sure I'm sure, baby. Somethin's holdin' 'em up or he'd have found us already."
"I'm *cold*!" Susan wept.
"Yeah, so'm I." Bronson lifted the little girl to his back again, pulling the thin, resilient blanket around them both and knotting it under his chin. "C'mon, Angie, we gotta find a place to hide."
The ground was beginning to rise more steeply now, and they struggled up a rough, bushy hillside covered with brambles that caught vindictively at their legs. Bronson swore wearily, stopping to tear himself free. Angela paused beside him, panting. "Kevin, what if they've been caught?"
Bronson had been trying hard not to think about that possibility. "They haven't, honey," he said. "I'd know if they were. Alan'd link with me if he got in trouble."
Angela looked dubious. "Are you *sure*, Kevin? What if it was too far away?"
He shook his head. "That don't figure into it. He linked with me once when he was on Troth and I was at our home base, lightyears away. That's something ordinary psychic partners can't do, but Alan can. He's always linked with me before when he was in trouble." Then he added to himself, 'But before, I wasn't linked to you, Angie baby. I sure hope it don't make a difference.'
Angela was watching him, her expression thoughtful and worried in the fading light. "Kevin, do you know something you're not telling me?"
He jumped. "What makes you ask that?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. You look sort of upset."
He put his shields up. Dratted empaths! "I ain't upset. Listen, Angie, I've known Alan a long time, and so far this link has always worked. He called me over and over when they were interrogatin' him. I remember that like it was yesterday. I hadn't ever had anybody do that before. An I could feel everythin' that was happenin' to him." He broke off. He hadn't meant to tell her that -- not yet, anyway. "Yesterday evenin' when the Patrol was chasin' us, he was linked tight with me the whole time."
Angela pushed wet hair from her eyes and nodded. "Then what's holding them up?"
"I dunno. They'll be here as soon as they can. You can count on it." He put an arm around her, pulling her over beside him, beneath the blanket. "Let's get outta here."
They made it up the slope and paused at the summit, squinting miserably through the rain.
It was beginning to let up at last, he saw with relief as they started down the other side. The chill in the air had intensified and Angela pressed tightly against him, her arms clasping him about the chest. Oh well, he thought, it wouldn't be so bad, spending another night on this world with pretty, sexy little Angie to huddle up to ...
The thought brought another flash of anger and self-recrimination. He must *not* let himself get carried away, not after the business this morning. Angela liked and trusted him and he mustn't betray that trust, no matter what. Her instinctive withdrawal from him earlier demonstrated that she had not yet recovered from Fairchild's attempted assault. He must be very careful with her, if there was ever to be any permanent relationship between them ...
Permanent relationship? What was he thinking? He didn't want a permanent relationship with *any* woman. Did he? Well, did he?
"Kevin," Angela said.
"Yeah?"
She stopped, pulling at him. "Wait, don't go on."
"Why not"
"Something's not right." In the near-darkness he could see an odd expression on her face, and once again she reminded him forcibly of Alan.
He looked around. They had reached the bottom of the slight hill and the ground was rising again. Trees dotted the slope before them, big, conical evergreens that swayed in the high wind. Nothing looked unusual, but he knew psychics well enough not to assume that just because he couldn't see a danger that it didn't exist. "What's the matter, Angie?"
"I don't know." She shook her head sharply. "Something's wrong. I feel funny ..."
A shriek echoed through the forest and something shot out of the tree directly ahead of them: the tree under which Bronson would have stepped if not for Angela's warning. Susan screamed shrilly.
It landed lightly before them, and in the uncertain light, Bronson caught the impression of a huge, catlike creature the size of a small horse, but hairless, its hide shimmering faintly in the dimness. Angela gave a gasp as its lips drew back in a snarl, exposing a mouthful of eight-centimeter fangs. "It's an octocat! Watch out!"
"Get back!" Bronson pushed Angela behind him, just as the octocat sprang.
The blaster flew from his hand as it hit him, knocking him flat. Two elongated teeth gleamed for a moment, and a mass of heretofore-unnoticed tentacles whipped around him, dragging him irresistibly toward the grinning mouth. The jaws opened wide to receive him and Bronson gave himself up for lost.
A blaster cracked somewhere and there was a maddened screech from the octocat. The tentacles loosened slightly, just as the weapon cracked again. With another screech, the thing hurled him away.
He landed hard against a tree, the impact driving the air from his lungs. Incredibly, he saw Angela, her small figure braced against a tree, the blaster held before her in both hands. The animal again voiced that hair-raising scream and sprang.
The blaster roared. Flame ballooned from the muzzle, completely engulfing the octocat. Astonished, Bronson realized that Angela must have set the weapon on emergency maximum, and recalled how a short time earlier he had explained briefly to her the settings of the weapon. It had been almost in passing, a feeble attempt on his part to distract her thoughts from the recent, if unsuccessful, assault. He hadn't expected her to remember it.
He pushed himself up on one elbow, trying with only marginal success to draw air into his lungs. Angela dropped to her knees beside him, the exhausted blaster still clutched in one hand. "Kevin, are you hurt?"
He shook his head and drew a long, crowing breath. "I'm okay," he croaked. "Thing knocked the wind out of me." He sat up, breathing raggedly. "Good girl. You kept your head." He took the blaster from her and tried to stand up. "We gotta get outta here fast. Every search party in the area'll zero in on that blast." He staggered clumsily upright, Angela's little hand clutching his arm. "C'mon, Susie."
The little girl appeared on his other side, also clutching his arm. "Angie!" she squealed. "He's got blood on him!"
Angela reached up again, dabbing at Bronson's cheek with her wet hankie. "It's just a scratch, Susie." Her voice was shaking. "The octocat must have caught him with a claw."
"I'm fine," Kevin croaked again, unaccountably touched by their concern. "Let's go, kids. We gotta hurry. What'd you call that critter, Angie?"
"Octocat," Angela told him as they hurried up the slope. "The first settlers named it that because it's got tentacles like a Terran octopus. Actually, it's only got six but by the time they found that out, the name had stuck." She smiled shakily at him. "Are you sure you're really all right?"
"Yeah." He bent to swing Susan to his back. "Man, you surprised me, baby."
"Huh? How?"
"Keepin' your cool like that."
"Oh." Angela smiled a little.
"Alan's like that," Bronson continued. "He *never* loses his head." He chuckled suddenly. "It must run in the family. You're so much like Alan, it's scary."
There was the hum of an aircar in the distance. Bronson glanced up. "Here they come."
Susan wound her arms around his neck. "I'm scared."
"Yeah, me too, sweetie." Bronson patted her hand.
Angela's hand closed around his. "Kevin?"
"Yeah?"
"If we do get cornered ... don't ... well ..." she glanced at her sister. "What will they do to Susie?"
Bronson cleared his throat. "You know what they do to psychics."
She was silent a moment. "Susie's only four years old," she said at last. "They wouldn't ..."
"Alan's little sis was almost five when they got her," Bronson said.
"Huh?" Angela looked shocked. "Kevin, she was killed in an accident."
He shook his head. "No, she wasn't. We ain't exactly sure what happened in that mess but Alan survived and so did little Jan. They ... the Jils, I mean ... took her prisoner and experimented on her to learn more about Terran psychics, until Alan and Mark rescued her -- " He grinned. "And zapped the Viceroy for good measure." His smile faded. "They'd have killed her eventually, though. Age don't matter, or political convictions, or nothin'. If you're a psychic an' they catch you, you're dead."
There was the hum of another aircar, and a few seconds later, another. Bronson kept moving. "There'll be search parties all over the place pretty soon," he told his companions. "We gotta find a place to hole up." He swore softly. What was holding up Alan and Mark?
They went on slowly, for only a little light now filtered through the trees and it was difficult to see. The darkness would be no barrier to the hunters, however, Bronson knew. Probably only the vast area their pursuers had to search, and the abundance of animal life in the area had saved them from discovery so far, but that advantage was rapidly diminishing.
He had replaced the energy cell of his blaster and held the weapon in one hand, with Angela clinging to the other. Silly as it was, he still seemed occasionally to catch the scent of her perfume. Impossible, he knew. The rain must have washed it away long since.
Angela's hand tightened in his. "Patrolmen!" she whispered.
Her psychic powers were functioning even without her awareness of them, Bronson thought as he pushed her into the bushes. There was a rectangular hollow in the ground, almost a meter deep, and he dropped into it, pulling her after him. He hadn't heard anything, but Angela was undoubtedly "hearing" the approaching search party with her inner ears.
Within minutes, he heard the faint murmur of voices and the scrape of boots on the rough ground. Someone stumbled and fell with a noisy crash and the sound was succeeded by a string of curses.
"You okay, Sarge?"
"Yeah." The man was demonstrably a Shallockian. ""Gouged my knee on one o' those rocks. What the devil is all this stuff doin' around here, anyway?"
"I dunno, sir. They're all over the place." There was a grunt of effort and the sergeant's voice cursed fluently once more.
"Who'd build a town in a place like this?" The other patrolman's question was more in disgust than looking for actual answers, Kevin thought. Still, it was a strange question. He had seen no signs of civilization since they had left the colony, the day before.
The voices and footsteps faded after a time, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The men hadn't approached their hiding place, but his nerves were on edge. The search parties had to know that they were somewhere in the area. Angela hadn't had a choice, but that blast had to have alerted the searchers that their quarry was nearby.
The rain had almost stopped but everything was drenched. The growing things around them were beaded with moisture and the mud underfoot was very slippery.
Bronson started to get to his feet. His hand dislodged something in the darkness, a stone, he thought, and a small avalanche followed.
The sound was loud in the relative silence of the forest and he crouched down again in their foxhole, clutching Angela's wrist in one hand and waiting.
Nothing happened. Very slowly, he relaxed. "C'mon," he breathed.
"Kevin," she whispered.
"What?"
"That man was right. There's rocks all over the place."
"C'mon, honey."
"Wait." She released his hand and he heard her fumbling in the darkness. "Kevin, these stones have been carved."
"Huh? What the devil are you worryin' about rocks for now, baby? Let's go."
"Wait ..." He heard again the faint clink of rocks. "I'm a xenoarcheology major, Kevin. These stones aren't just here by accident. They were carved -- not by hand, though. Machine carved stone."
"Huh?" That caught his attention. Angela was a psychic, he reminded himself. She might be aware of something involving these rocks that was more important than it seemed on the surface. "A buildin' of some kind?"
"I think so. Okay, I guess we'd better go on."
He helped her out of their hiding place and led the way quietly up the gentle slope, trying to avoid scattered stones and rubble partially concealed by the thick vegetation. The evidence of ruined architecture increased as they proceeded. This had been some kind of settlement, Kevin thought, though who or what had inhabited it had left no obvious clues to their identities behind. The forest had taken over the ancient town, he thought abstractedly. The luxuriant plant life of Liskell had invaded it and turned the place into a ghost town, inhabited only by insects, or whatever this planet had in its place, and the local wildlife.
Once again Angela stopped, running her hands over piled heaps of stones and partially standing buildings. "It's weathered," she whispered. "Old buildings of some kind."
"How old?" Kevin whispered back.
"Impossible to tell without instruments," she said. For a moment she was silent and he heard the soft scraping of her fingernails on the stone. "At least three hundred Terran years. Maybe more."
"Hmm. Terrans have only been colonizin' here for the last ten years. Who coulda built this place?"
"I don't know," she said. Her voice was slightly remote. "It's pretty old, but there's no intelligent species native to Liskell. A vanished race, maybe, one that died out long before we arrived?"
"I dunno," Bronson said, doubtfully. "Seems like we shoulda found some trace of them before now."
Her hand closed on his and he heard her sharp intake of breath. A moment later he heard what her extrasensory equipment had already detected: the crunch of Patrol boots on damp twigs.
Slipping his hand into Angela's, he drew her silently into the half-crumbled structure that she had just been examining. Susan was still clinging tightly to his back and he eased her to the floor, pushing her behind their two larger bodies. She huddled against him and he patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Keep quiet, honey," he whispered. "Maybe they'll go away."
The men were approaching and handlights shone hazily through the trees and mist.
"More of those buildings." The man's accent placed him as a native of Riskell. "What are they *doing* all over this place, anyhow?"
"Beats me." The second man was as obviously a Shallockian. He sounded bored and very tired. "Seems like we've been crawlin' through this stuff for years. I'm about shot."
"Me too." There was a pause and then the first voice spoke. "This is Search Fifteen. We're on the eastern slope of the mountain and we've found more of these ruins, sir. Scads of them. No sign of the fugitives." There was a short pause. "None at all, sir. The only thing I can figure is there must be a base out this way and they're making for it. We'll keep you informed. Search Fifteen out."
Kevin peeked through shrouding bushes. Neither man was wearing a snooper helmet, he saw with relief. They were probably fairly limited in quantity, after all, but the two men were less than three meters away, one of them slouched against the trunk of a tree. As Bronson watched, the man pulled out a cigarette, flicking his lighter. "Want one, Voval?"
"No thanks, sir. I'm tryin' to quit."
"Smart boy. How long have you been trying?"
"Two days, sir. It's hell, believe me."
"Yeah. I'd never survive that long. What made you decide to give it up?"
Susan stirred restlessly against him and Bronson felt sweat break out on his forehead in spite of the chilly air. Don't move, sweetie, he thought. For the luvvamike, don't make any noise!
"Well, it was this way, sir." The young patrolman was watching the corporal puff his cigarette. "I was with Sam Johnson on guard duty two days ago, an' we snuck a cigarette. I'd just put mine out when Lord Revilthvar showed up -- walked right by us and there was poor old Johnson standin' there with the evidence in his hands. Revilthvar clobbered him -- after he finished throwin' up. It was pretty bad. Johnson's in the hospital now, an' I hear he's gonna be there a while -- if he lives. I decided right then an' there to stop."
"Congratulations." The other man took a long drag and blew a plume of smoke into the air. Susan stirred again.
"Man!" the corporal said. "I've got a toothache that won't quit."
Oh great, Bronson thought. Now we get to hear about the good corporal's toothache! He forced himself to remain still as water dripped from somewhere overhead, trickling down his ear and tracing a slow path across his neck.
Susan sneezed.
"What the devil was that?" The corporal threw down his cigarette and straightened up. Bronson crouched back in the deepest of the shadows, feeling Angela crouch down beside him. A light flashed through the ruins, playing over the ancient rubble and broken stones.
"I dunno." The other man sounded worried. "Animal of some sort, maybe. Let's go, sir. I don't hear nothin'."
"Well, it sure sounded like something to me." The corporal peered into the opening of the nearest structure, flashing his light around. "Nothing. Check that one."
Voval gulped and approached their hiding spot. Bronson eased the setting of his blaster to kill.
The man flashed his light inside. The light moved across the rubble scattered around the broken stone floor.
"Anything?" The corporal had approached and was peering over the younger man's shoulder.
"No ..." The light flashed over Angela's face.
"Freeze!" Bronson hissed fiercely. "You're covered!"
The two men obeyed. Bronson rose to his feet and came one careful step forward. "You! Corporal! Drop the blaster."
The man obeyed, with a soft cuss word.
"Now you, Voval."
The second patrolman dropped his weapon. Bronson did not relax. "Now, one at a time, take off those helmets and roll 'em away."
The headgear landed beside the blasters. Bronson looked at the two faces appraisingly. The patrolman was a second classer, perhaps eighteen, his face stark white in the yellow lights. The corporal was older, around thirty, and appeared angry rather than frightened. Kevin gestured with the blaster. "All right, lie down on your faces. One wrong move and you won't be wakin' up. Get their blasters," he added to Angela.
The patrolman's eyes widened further as Angela came lightly toward him into the circle of light. "Westover!" he breathed.
Bronson didn't smile. "On your faces! Now!"
The two men obeyed. Angela stepped softly up to them, bending down to pick up the discarded blasters. The patrolman remained rigidly still as she stepped past him, reaching for the corporal's.
The corporal moved suddenly, his hand darting for her ankle. She moved with the light grace so characteristic of the Westover clan, leaping nimbly back as Bronson flipped his weapon to stun. The corporal came to his knees, grasping for her. One of his arms wrapped around her thighs as Bronson fired.
The stunbeam struck the corporal squarely and brushed Angela's legs, which collapsed under her. There was a splintering crash and the floor beneath them gave. Angela screamed as the two of them and the young patrolmen vanished into the hole.
"Angie!" Bronson leaped forward, peering down into the opening.
Both of the handlights had disappeared into the hole as well, but beneath him, Bronson could see one of them still burning brightly, casting its light upward and illuminating a rough, nondescript grey wall. By its light, he could see Angela and the two men. One of them was stirring slightly, trying to push himself to hands and knees. Angela and the corporal lay limp.
"Angie!" Susan cried.
"Sh! Quiet!" Bronson said. He took careful aim at the stirring patrolman and fired again. The man subsided.
"Angie!" he called softly.
No answer. He bit his lip. With her legs temporarily numbed by the stunbolt, she had probably been unable to break her fall, he told himself. Hopefully, she had merely been stunned by the fall. The thought that it might be worse he pushed from his mind at once. If she had been killed, how could he live? The realization hit him suddenly that little, naïve Angela Westover had, in the last day, become a very important part of his life; not only of his life, but of him! Holy hell! He *was* in love!
For the moment, the realization caused him no concern. The only thing that mattered right now was Angela. Quickly, he unfastened the line from the Patrol belt he still wore, and hooked one end to a heavy rock.
"Hang onto my back, Susie," he told the little girl, hoisting her to his back. "I gotta get down there, fast."
He swung himself over the pit and started to descend hand over hand. It was about four meters to where Angela lay and he accomplished the distance in less than ten seconds.
"Angie!" He dropped beside her. This close, he could see her breathing. "Angie, wake up."
She moaned softly. "Kevin?"
"Yeah. Take it easy honey. Are you hurt?"
She moaned again. "My head. Oh Kevin, it hurts!"
"Lie still, honey. You'll feel better in a while."
The patrolman moaned. Kevin glanced at him, then drew his blaster and summarily stunned the man again. Angela turned her head, blinking at him in the dimness, then pushed herself slowly to her elbows. "What happened?"
"The floor collapsed under you," Kevin said, helping her to sit up. "I guess you couldn't do much with your legs numbed like that. How do they feel now?"
"Full of pins and needles." Angela turned her head to look at the corporal and Bronson heard her draw in her breath sharply. "Kevin! He's dead!"
"Huh?"
"The corporal! I must have landed on him!" She touched the man, her hands as gentle as if she were touching a baby instead of a blood enemy. "Kevin ..." Her voice broke.
"It's okay, honey." Bronson found himself trying to comfort her. "You didn't do it. He did it himself when he tried to grab you. Take it easy." He flicked his hand light on low and began to examine her head. "Where did you hit your head?"
She raised a hand and touched a spot on the back of her skull. Bronson examined it with gentle fingers, grimacing when she drew in her breath. "Sorry. You've got a nice lump there. We'll have to get it checked out when we get back to base. With luck, it's just a bruise."
Angela was still looking at the corporal. "Kevin, I've never killed anybody before. I didn't think it could be this bad ..."
"Honey, you didn't do anythin'," Bronson said. "Ease up. Remember Fairchild?" He saw her face change and continued quickly. "You didn't mean to do it, an' you know as well as I do that Fairchild did. This guy's probably just like him. Lotsa 'trols are. Now, we gotta get outta here. Stay put a minute while I ..."
"Somebody's coming!" Susan whispered in his ear.
Bronson snatched up the handlight and switched it off. He got quickly to his feet, lifting Angela to hers. "Come on," he whispered, "back up. Maybe they won't see the rope."
The hole into which Angela had fallen was not precisely a hole. It was more like a large, oblong closet that ran in both directions. It must be part of the basement of this building, whatever it had been, he thought. Bronson pulled Angela back into the dark recess to their left. He could hear the muted sound of voices now, and the crunch of boots on stone.
The recess, to his surprise, did not come to an end. Rather, it widened slightly and continued on. Behind them, the voices became louder and faintly, he could distinguish words.
"Lookit that! There's a couple of helmets. What's been goin' on here!"
The reply was too muffled to be discerned. There was more crunching, a crash and a curse. "Watch yourself, Harry. The floor's busted. Look!"
Bronson cussed under his breath. They had seen the rope.
He hurried Angela farther down the recess with his arm around her waist, still half expecting it to end. She went quietly, her breathing quick and light in the clammy darkness, limping slightly. He could see her breath steam slightly and the white plume of his own breath.
His hand encountered something; a stone wall. For a moment he thought their luck had run out but an instant later he realized it wasn't so. The wall that gritted beneath his fingers was merely a partition, dividing the passage into two separate tunnels. Which way?
It was too bad that Alan wasn't here. A trained psychic would have known instinctively which way to go, but an untrained psychic was better than no psychic at all.
"It branches," he whispered. "Which way, Angie?"
"Which way?" She sounded startled. "*I* don't know!"
"Pick one."
"Uh ... right, I guess."
Bronson turned right and led her on down another passage, one arm around her waist. It curved gradually and became pitch black as they proceeded deeper underground. Bronson turned his handlight on low. Angela's footsteps grew gradually more steady. The numbness in her legs must be subsiding, Kevin thought, but she was still limping slightly. Susan still clung to his shoulders.
The tunnel branched again and again he took the right hand branch. No sense in switching, he thought, and if they continued in the same direction at least they would be able to find their way out again.
More curving, then another branch. He went right, moving cautiously. All sounds of pursuit had long since died away and Bronson saw that the passage was gradually widening. The roof was now higher than he could reach.
The tunnel continued to branch, and Bronson lost count of the number of times. At last he paused, leaning against one cold, stone wall and pulling Angela close to him.
Everything was very still. Even the thunder was no more than a faint mutter, very far away. They must be deep underground, now. He wondered who could have built these tunnels, and for what possible purpose.
Angela had been limping more noticeably for the last fifteen minutes or so. She hadn't complained but he figured that she must have twisted her foot when she had fallen. Now he held her against him and bent his head to kiss her hair. It was still damp and tangled with twigs, but he caught the scent, very faintly, of calanfruit.
Of all the memories in his childhood, that scent aroused the most pleasant recollections. After his new parents had taken him from that hellish orphanage to their home, his new mother had placed a bowl of hot, spicy meat and vegetables before him. He had gobbled the food down and then one of his new sisters had brought him a bowl of calanfruit, chopped, with cream poured over it.
He had never forgotten it, or the pretty, eager face of his new sister. For the first time in years, he wondered where she was, and his other sister and his mother. What, he wondered, did they think of him now? He hoped they weren't ashamed of him for what he had done. Maybe one day he would have the opportunity to explain it to them.
He kissed Angela's hair again, breathing deeply of the fragrance, and for the moment forgetting Susan, clinging to his back. He couldn't see her features in the dimness but somehow he knew that she was smiling.
"Did you hurt your ankle?" he asked.
She nodded, her head against his shoulder. "I must have -- when I fell, probably.
"Guess I'd better tape it for you. No tellin' how much farther this tunnel goes." He let Susan slide to the ground and ruffled her curls. "Keep your feelers out, sweetie."
"What feelers?" Susan sounded puzzled.
"Oh." Kevin grinned. "It's an expression we use in the Underground. Feelers means clairvoyance. Let me know if you think anyone's comin'."
"Okay," Susan agreed.
Bronson lowered Angela to the stone floor and squatted beside her. Gently, he removed her soaked and mud-caked sandal. The ankle was definitely puffy and the joint was beginning to discolor. The emergency kit yielded a sprain wrap that he applied to her small foot and slender ankle, keenly aware the whole time of her soft, smooth skin. When he finished and fastened the sandal loosely on her foot, he discovered that his hands were shaking.
Angela smiled a little. "Thank you, Kevin. It feels much better."
"Think you can walk on it?" He cleared his throat. "Maybe I should carry you. Susie can walk a ways.
"Sure, I can walk," Susan announced. "I'm awful tired of being carried."
"I'll be all right if you help me," Angela said, demurely. "It isn't that bad."
"I don't mind, honey -- really," Kevin said. He wanted her to say yes, although at the moment he couldn't have explained why even to himself. "You shouldn't be usin' it, an' besides, we'll be able to move faster. We don't know if the rest of the patrolmen are followin' us or not."
She shrugged, not looking at him. "All right."
He bent and helped her to her feet. Her slender arms clasped him about the neck and he boosted her up, hooking his hands beneath her bare knees. Susan fell in beside him, trotting briskly along. Bronson kept his light turned low and led the way down the corridor once more.
Angela's weight was negligible. She couldn't mass more than forty kilos, he though, and her hands clung tight to his shoulders. She felt nice, he thought. Real nice. Oh, what the hell ...
They had traveled another thirty minutes in silence when Angela spoke. "Kevin ..."
"Yeah?"
"Turn off the light."
He obeyed at once, flicking it off. Darkness closed down.
But it wasn't complete darkness, he realized an instant later. Faint light issued seemingly from the walls around them. Susan stood beside him, one small hand clenched on his belt.
"Where's it coming from?" Angela asked.
"I dunno." Bronson glanced uneasily around. Everything was very quiet, except for the drip of water somewhere off to their right. "Think we oughtta go back? Try another passage, maybe?"
He felt her shrug. "Whatever you think, Kevin."
"I think we should go on," Susan informed him.
Bronson hesitated. The place bothered him but he had learned long since that the instincts of psychics -- even untrained psychics -- were usually correct. Little Susan's talents were instinctive at her age. The older an untrained psychic got, the more he learned to disregard his feelings as "imagination", or "nerves", but Susan was too young to do that as yet. Angela, on the other hand, was old enough to have learned to distrust her abilities and would undoubtedly have to be partially retrained by the Underground if they ever got out of this mess alive.
He started on again, Angela clinging to his back and Susan trotting beside him. The glow increased slowly but steadily, until the tunnel around them was illuminated with a soft, reddish light. They had been traveling for perhaps thirty minutes more when the passage ended suddenly, opening into an immense cavern.
The place was huge and rounded, illuminated entirely by the same soft, reddish light. And in the center of the cavern ...
Bronson stared in utter bewilderment, for the moment unable to comprehend what he saw.
It was a ship -- an enormous ship -- parked precisely in the center of the huge cavern. It looked strange and out of place there, standing silent and alone, waiting.
**********
tbc
